Chapter 1

That fall, after my SAT scores came out, I had more than 1550.

With a score like that, I was a shoo-in for Riverdale College of Education, the best public school in the state for teacher education.

Ever since third grade, I knew I was going to be a teacher.

The afternoon I was submitting my ED application, I picked Riverdale College of Education and saved it. Then I went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

When I came back, my sister, Olivia Jenson, was getting up from my chair.

She grinned and said, "Just checked it for you. I didn't change a thing."

I sat down and opened the page again.

The ED choice was different.

It had changed from Riverdale College of Education to some bottom-tier out-of-state school I'd never heard of.

In the top right corner of the page, it said: [Application submitted.]

Deadline for changes: Today, 00:00.

I glanced at my phone. It was 00:23.

*****

I stared at the screen, that random college name glaring back at me, my fingers frozen above the keyboard.

All I could think was, "I have to fix this."

I kept refreshing the page like a maniac, hitting the edit button over and over, until a pop-up finally appeared.

It read: [Edits are no longer allowed for this application.]

I clicked again. The same pop-up.

A third try. A fourth. Still nothing.

"Sabrina, what are you doing?" Olivia walked in, carrying a plate of grapes. She tossed one into her mouth. "Why the long face?"

I turned my head and looked at her. "You changed my app."

"Huh?" She blinked at me. "Oh, I was just messing around. I didn't know it would actually submit. I just hit confirm without thinking."

She just hit confirm without thinking.

Twelve years of grinding. And she just hit confirm without thinking.

"Do you even know the deadline's already closed?" I asked.

"Closed?" She froze for about a second. Then she laughed, "No way. Just call the admissions office. Tell them it was a mistake. They'll fix it."

She said it like it was nothing. Like she was telling me the grapes weren't sweet enough today.

I picked up my phone and called the admissions office. All I got was a busy signal.

I called again. Still nothing but that busy tone.

I called seventeen times. Someone picked up on the eighteenth. They told me the system didn't allow changes after submission.

If my first choice didn't accept me, they might put me on the waitlist, and I could get in later.

I hung up and repeated the whole thing to Olivia, word for word.

Her smile froze for a second. Just a second.

"Then just wait it out. Your scores are high. You'll land somewhere," she said.

Mom came out of the kitchen, grease stains on her apron. "What's going on? Why are you two arguing?"

I said, "Olivia changed my application. She submitted it. It can't be undone."

Mom looked at Olivia.

Olivia's eyes went red in an instant. "Mom, I was just messing around. How was I supposed to know the system was so rigid? I didn't mean it."

Mom sighed. She patted me on the shoulder. "Sabrina, don't blame Olivia. She didn't mean it."

That sentence. I had heard it at least a hundred times growing up. "She didn't mean it."

I didn't cry or throw a fit.

I shut my bedroom door, fired up my computer, and searched "waitlist timeline."

I didn't eat anything. Not out of anger. I just didn't have time.

The waitlist worked on a rolling basis. The first big wave of decisions would come in mid-May. 23 days away.

I made a list of every teacher education program that might still take me. I ranked them by their education school rankings. I noted their locations, their program offerings, and the lowest waitlist admit scores from previous years.

Thirty-seven schools. I went through every single one.

By two in the morning, I had narrowed it down to three with the best odds.

One was in Silverton, one in Goldwyn, and one in Amberfield.

The closest one was nearly 750 miles from home.

The desk lamp was still shining on my face when the door opened.

It was Dad. He set a plate of pasta on the corner of my desk. "Eat something."

I said okay.

He stood there for a moment, like he had something to say.

Finally, he just said, "You know how Olivia is."

I knew.

I knew all too well.

Olivia was three years older than me. She had always been the type to "mess around" since we were kids.

Back in fifth grade, we had a school choir contest.

I had been chosen as the lead singer and practiced for a month.

The day before the contest, my costume disappeared.

Olivia said she wanted to see how it looked on her and ended up snapping the zipper by accident.

"I was just messing around. I didn't mean to," she said.

Mom made me wear my school uniform onstage. The lead singer spot went to someone else.

Back in eighth grade, I saved up for half a year and bought a Parker fountain pen. My Language Arts teacher said writing with a fountain pen would help me practice my penmanship.

I only got three days with it.

On the fourth day, Olivia "borrowed" it. When she gave it back, the nib was bent.

"No way. It's that fragile? I only wrote a couple of lines with it," she said.

Mom said, "It's just a pen. Buy another one."

But that pen cost 30 dollars. I had saved for four months.

After that, whenever I got something new, I never left it out in the open.

I locked my desk drawer. I shoved my diary under the mattress. I kept my pocket money tucked between page 120 of my textbook.

I learned to hide things. But she always managed to find them.

Back in my first year of high school, I had a crush on a boy from the class next door.

I wrote it down in my diary.

Olivia found the page. At a family gathering, with about eight relatives sitting there, she read it out loud with a grin.

"Our Sabrina's got her first crush," she teased.

Everyone at the table cracked up.

My face was burning red. I sat there, gripping my fork so hard that my knuckles went white.

Olivia said, "I was just messing around. Look at you. So sensitive."

Mom said, "Olivia was just joking. Don't take it so hard."

Somehow the boy found out about it too. After that, he avoided me in the hallways. He would turn the other way the moment he saw me.

I finished the pasta and set the plate on the desk.

Dad was still standing in the doorway. "Sabrina, what about that school? The one on your application now? You could still go."

"No." I didn't look up. "I'll figure it out on my own."